You too perhaps were stranded here, like these poor
homesick boys, in this great catch-all where the
white race ends, this grim Shanghai that like a
sieve hangs over filth and loneliness.
You were caught here like these, and who could live,
young and so slender--in Shanghai?
Green satin, and a gleaming throat, and painted eyes
of steel,
Hunter or hunted,
Peace be with you,
_Lotus_!

Shanghai


In the Mixed Court: Shanghai

Two men sit in judgment on their fellows.
Side by side they sit, raised on the pedestal of the law,
at grips with squalor and ignorance.
They are civilization--and they are very grave.

One of them is of my own people, a small man, definite,
hard-featured, an accurate weapon of small
calibre.
Of the other I cannot judge.
He is heavily built, and when he is still the dignity of
the Orient is about him like his robe. His head
is large and beautifully domed, his hands tapering